DrabbleKlok
by Rokateer
Summary: I'm writing a series of song-inspired drabbles about Dethklok. The notion is mostly Nathan/Pickles. Ratings might change as I progress.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: The Last Song I'm Wasting On You  
**Author**: Ich. Weil ich cool bin.  
**Rating**: Maybe... K+ for slash-if you-squint.  
**Warnings**: Just a little of the typical gayness.  
**Pairings**: Tony/Pickles, Pickles/Nathan  
**Notes**: I'm writing some drabbles based on songs. Each will receive the title from the song I'm currently listening to, and it will be based on what the song is about. This time it was _The Last Song I'm Wasting On You_ by Amy Lee.

Pickles laid down his pen and stared at the letter he'd written. Yet another elegy for his one-time band mate. He couldn't stop writing sick, queer notes and letters to Tony. Tony Thunderbottom was his biggest inspiration. He was like... like a brother to Pickles, and the redhead simply couldn't help admiring him. But now...  
Now things had changed, and Pickles had nothing left for the semi-Italian bassist he'd once shared his room and his booze and his _home_ with. Tony had lied to him, betrayed him. Pickles felt used. Useless. He felt like he was worth nothing... But if he looked at Nathan in this light, casting him into the role of the bitchy, good-for-nothing wuss, it felt so wrong. Nathan was like a father to him. Though he was younger, he was more sensible, and he always knew how to make the Wisconsinite laugh. He was better than Calvert any day. Pickles crossed Tony's name off the lyrical script. He hadn't decided whether Nathan's name should be in its place, but this was it. This was the last song he was ever wasting on Tony.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: The Hammer  
**Author**: Me's agains, I's just likes, so dildos.  
**Rating**: PG  
**Warnings**L: None. I don't warn for language. I swear too much IRL as it is.  
**Pairings**: None  
**Notes**: This time I picked a Dethklok song to write to... I shall do this all night until either A) I get hand cramps or B) I get bored. Whichever comes last.

A vicious blow cut in to Damien Cornickelson's side. He grunted in pain, glowering evilly at the source of the punch. Nathan Explosion hissed deep in his throat and growled, "Go, take a walk before I fucking kill you...", his deep green eyes blazing with uncontrollable anger at the little runt before him who had threatened to stagnate Dethklok completely, and make sure they'd never find a recording company again.  
Magnus Hammersmith stood by silently, watching the scene unfold before him.  
He wasn't going to do anything; let them pound each other to ease their quarrels. It wasn't his problem. Nathan snarled at Damien, causing the little bitch to laugh, braying like a donkey. Like a big, fat, stupid donkey. He couldn't take this shit anymore. The older man released his pent-up anger in a roundhouse punch to Damien's shoulder, dislocating it and knocking him out cold. Magnus nodded approvingly while the rest of Dethklok watched on in awe. He took Nathan's fist into his hands and studied it before acknowledging with a knowing grin, "You're like a hammer, Nathan."  
"Yeah, I know. I'm a god. I'm The Kaiser."


	3. Chapter 3

**Title**: Jukebox Hero  
**Author**: Jag. Ich. Me. Yo. THE EARTHQUAKE. THE COMETS COME.  
**Rating**: K  
**Warnings**: None, I'm not in a mature mood right now, and besides, Foreigner aren't too much of an M or X rated band... so the song didn't really inspire me to anything other than , well, a jukebox hero.  
**Pairings**: None.  
**Notes**: Blah blah, Foreigner, blah blah, and I've had too much coffee, and my cat is officially not coming back to me, and blah.

The microphone almost fell from his sweat sheened Hand. He took it up again, gripping its hilt so tight his knuckles cracked, and sang like his life depended on it. And in a way, it did. If he didn't make an impression with this gig, he would have to go live on the street. Back where his parents could find him, pick him out like a pigeon picks a black piece of corn from the rest, and he'd be dead. Maybe literally... who knew? So he needed to land an impression, and make it a good one. He yelled into the microphone head, his voice reaching pitches that made it break, his entire body rigid with anticipation, his throat raw from screaming. But he didn't care; this was his moment. His time to shine. And he did leave quite the impression.  
Newcomers to the bar turned their heads to see who he was, and several tossed him a dollar or a few coins. Those who had been watching him for a while would steadily toss five-dollar bills at him. He didn't stop, didn't even break for water, until well into the night. And by then, everyone knew which club they'd be coming to in the future. Which other club featured free concerts from Snakes 'N' Barrels?


End file.
